Slow Dance
by CrystalXanadu
Summary: Late at night, when everyone should have gone home, Jack plays a song. Jack:Ianto pairing.


**Slow Dance**

by Bluestar1, aka Crystalshard

**Summary**:Late at night, when everyone should have gone home, Jack plays a song.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Torchwood, it belongs to the BBC.

**A/N**:Given 1x08, this is probably slightly AU. But the plotbunnies bit me again.

* * *

Around the Hub and within it, the night was silent. The lights were all dimmed. Only Tosh's workstation was active, chattering though her latest computer program, but the screen itself was off. Tosh herself had long gone home, as had Gwen and Owen. Ianto should have left – in fact, almost had – but had realised he'd forgotten his mobile at the last minute. So now he was rooting though the kitchen in a patient search for the missing object.

His hand had just closed on it – why on earth was it in the cutlery drawer? – when soft strains of music flowed quietly though the Hub. Some sort of instrumental piece that Ianto didn't recognise, although in general type it sounded like a slow dance.

Ianto poked his head out of the kitchen door and found his eyes drawn by the one light still on in the Hub. Up in Jack's office, a figure moved against the light, dancing, swaying to the music.

Ianto moved closer almost unconsciously, drawn by the music and movement. It was Jack, it couldn't be anyone else in those braces and striped shirt. Jack had his arms crossed across his chest, clutching his shoulders as if he was holding a partner in that lonely dance. When his face was finally visible to Ianto, the young Welshman could see Jack's lips moving, whispering the lyrics to a song that only he knew. His eyes were closed, and although he wasn't crying there was enough grief in that expression to make Ianto's heart contract in sympathy.

* * *

Jack didn't know how it had come to fall though the rift, but the thing on his desk was the thirty-third century version of an MP3 player. It could play whatever music the owner wanted it to play. He'd seen one once, on a trip to the Arglaxya Grand Market with Rose and the Doctor. He would have bought it, just because Rose liked it, but the Doctor had managed to annoy the local police and they'd been running for the TARDIS before he could finalise the deal.

This could even be the same one he'd looked at then. The Rift worked in strange ways. Maybe the Rift was being influenced the same way that the music player could be, causing it to produce what people, in their heart of hearts, called for or feared or wanted. But whatever had happened, it was here now.

Lifting it to his lips, he whispered, "Three Words, by L-9. Instrumental version. Forty-nine seventy-three."

The music obediently drifted outwards from the device as Jack replaced it on the desk and closed his eyes. They'd all gone home now. There was no-one else to see him like this. He could do what he wanted, as long as he erased the CCTV footage later.

Whispering the lyrics to the song, he let himself follow the music. Giving up his body to it, letting it be the only thing there was. Crossing his arms over his chest, he tried to pretend he held the Doctor against him. But he didn't. Slowly, he let his arms drop to his sides. Empty.

Empty, until a warm presence wrapped soothing arms around him. He clutched at the body swaying in time with him, fisting his hands in the cloth and giving up any pretence at not needing this. He'd been alone too long, even when he'd found companionship for an evening. This, here and now, was what he needed. Just someone to hold him as they danced.

They danced, body to body, Jack's head resting against the stranger's shoulder, until the music curled around on itself and ended.

* * *

Ianto opened his eyes at the same time Jack did, curious and slightly nervous as to what Jack's reaction to his presumption would be. They had flirted enough, but he'd never really responded. Not like this.

"Ianto?" Jack lifted his head to examine Ianto's face, seeming bemused for a moment, as if he'd been expecting someone else. Ianto suspected he knew who. "I didn't know you danced."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, sir." Despite the potential in those words for accusation, Ianto kept them gentle, understanding. There was a lot he didn't know about Jack Harkness.

"The Doctor danced, too," Jack said quietly, his eyes looking elsewhere. Far away in time and space, Ianto knew as his guess was confirmed. He shouldn't really have known about Jack's quest, but there were enough things he'd picked up to make those words entirely comprehensible.

Even with that knowledge, Ianto didn't know how to answer Jack. So he simply held him. Jack didn't move from Ianto's embrace, but the older man – and how much older, Ianto wondered – released his grip on Ianto's shirt, resting his hands flat against Ianto's back instead.

Ianto had hated Jack once, just after Lisa had died. But Ianto was nothing if sensible, and he knew even as he felt it that his anger had no basis in fact. Lisa had been everything Jack had said, but Ianto had just been too blind to see it. Jack had been right, and separated from that moment by time, Ianto could see it clearly.

It wasn't that Jack had dealt with it well, because he hadn't. They'd both let things spark, each of them stinging the other with the painful electricity of hate and anger. But in essence, Jack had been right about Lisa. So, silently and without really showing it, Ianto had forgiven Jack. He only hoped that Jack had forgiven him.

"Do you dance, Ianto Jones?" came the murmured question beside Ianto's ear. Jack's breath brushed his skin like a warm wind, and Ianto knew that the question Jack was asking implied a different kind of music.

"Yes, Jack. I do."


End file.
